True Champions
by Nippy
Summary: Marcus serves the True Deity, Torm, this is his story. Please Read & Review and tell me what I'm doing wrong!
1. Chapter 1: Beginning

_Authors Note: _

Well, my first fiction lets see how this one goes. The main character is called Marcus and I hope you enjoy reading about him; he is one of my favourite characters that I have ever written… 

Marcus breathed deeply, taking in one of his last deep breaths before his final ride. This would determine the championship of the Order, and would give Marcus the opportunity he had been crying out for. 

The sunlight flickered on his face off of his bright armour and made his emerald green eyes even more intense than usual. He slammed the faceguard of his helmet down and stretched his neck, loosening his shoulders. His lance lay against his horse, the blue and white stripes bright on the glorious morn. He picked it up and raised it towards the Prelate of the Order, signalling his readiness. His opponent did the same and the bugle was called. The ride was on. 

"Ride Gardos, ride!" He cried out to his horse and he felt the familiar buck as his destrier pushed off against the dusty ground. 

His opponent had already started riding, kicking up a great amount of dust. His horse continued to accelerate. His breath increased rapidly and his throat became parched, the adrenalin coursed through his system. He cried out to Torm for the strength to win and suddenly, time slowed down. 

His lance was steady, aimed at the chest of his opponent. His counterpart had his lance squarely aimed at his chest, the black armour glinting softly in the warm sun. And just as soon as it had slowed, time sped up. 

The impact crushed his chest and he rocked back, taking the blow with him. The lance had splintered against his breastplate and he rocked forward, trying to gather his breath. He turned in his saddle, hoping against hope that he had succeeded in unhorsing his opponent. His gaze swept across the crowd, seeing roaring faces and screaming crowds watching the joust. 

He saw the horse of his opponent, stood stock still, and he saw the one thing that made his heart skip a beat, his opponent had fallen. He had won… 

Marcus ripped off his helmet and raised it to the crowd. They roared and cried out his name, immortalising him, he was their champion. 

* * * *

And then his dream ended. 


	2. Chapter 2: A Meeting

"Get up boy! It's time te get te work, you've got some cleaning to do!" 

The slave-master ripped off the blanket of Marcus and kicked him in the chest, forcing him up. 

Marcus blinked rapidly, taking in the weak sunlight from the small window. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and stood up. He rubbed his legs and tried to warm himself up, he grabbed his tattered breeches and pulled them on, tying the rope around them. In the next pallet a boy smaller than Marcus had just be hit for not waking when told. This was the harsh reality of life as a slave. His parents died of the plague and he was taken into the 'generous' poorhouse. He was exploited labour. 

At fifteen summers old, Marcus was the eldest slave in the house, he attempted to protect the little ones, but was often beaten for standing up to the lowlife owner. He bore scars across his back from the beatings he had received, but as long as the little ones were safe, he would continue to take their suffering, he was used to it by now. 

"You hear me boy? Git ta work!" He was slapped in the face, but he stood his ground, a large red welt appeared on his face. He stared at his attacker; he had grown now, taller than everyone else in the entire house, 6 foot at least, and his shoulders were broad and strong, the work had paid off, but he was still lean and weak from the poor food given to them. He drew in a deep breath and squared his shoulders. 

"That was the last time…" He muttered. "What was that boy? Ye got somethin' ta say? Spill it boy, lest I hit ye gain!" 

Marcus simply walked forward and punched the man straight in his face. He recoiled and sat whimpering on the floor, nursing his broken nose, the blood spilling from his nose trailed all down his shirt. The slave-master squealed when he saw the blood and ran off, returning with three of his enforcers, all of them held blackjacks. 

Marcus stood, stoically looking at them, one of them rushed at him and Marcus kicked out at the man, catching him in groin, doubling him up. He kneed him in the face and he sprawled on the floor, covering his face. The other two jumped at him and crushed him to the floor. They kicked and hit out at him, catching him in the ribs, punching him in the face, and hurting him when he was down. He covered up his stomach and chest and rolled into a ball, groaning with the pain that they were causing, he felt something break in his chest and he coughed violently, retching up blood. 

They stood off of him, grinning maliciously. The master of the house walked up to Marcus and spat in his face. 

"Git out of my house, you're done here! If I see you near here again, you'll git worse than this!" 

He kicked him again and signalled his thugs to pick him up. He got one more punch in the chest and he doubled over, they dragged him by his shirt and hair and left him out in the street for dead. 

He laid sobbing on the floor, nursing his ribs and stomach, occasionally coughing and spitting up blood. The street was empty for most of the day and most of the people that did walk past ignored him completely, who cared about a street wretch? 

Marcus got up to his knees and coughed again. He slowly stood up, his head spinning, he was in complete agony but his pride would not let him stay down. He struggled forwards, moving slowly, holding up against a wall. He turned a corner and fell again, but this time he fell on top of someone… 

The man grasped the boy underneath his arms and held him up against a wall. 

"Are you alright boy? What happened?" The man took off his gloves and felt Marcus's ribs, he knew that at least two were broken; it was a wonder that he was even walking. 

Marcus looked at the man and saw his shining plate, his sword strapped to his waist and the necklace hanging down his chest, a symbol shining brightly in his eyes, strangely drawing him towards it. 

"Let us get you to the temple, you need help my boy." 

The man helped Marcus walk, moving towards the temple that was the man's home… 


	3. Chapter 3: Dreams

_Authors Note: I've returned to this after a little while, to be honest I had forgotten about it! Thanks to RainChild for the reviews. Anyway, here continues the tale of Marcus…_

Marcus's leaned heavily on the unknown man, and struggled with each step. Every breath was tortured and laboured, his shattered ribcage lying heavily on his lungs. He coughed and moaned in pain as his lungs hammered against his ribs. 

"Not long now my son, not long…" The mans voice trailed off as he approached a walled compound, the reinforced oaken doors were open, and two guardsmen stood at attention on the outside. 

He called out loudly to them; "Get the healer, quickly now!" One of them ran off to a door in the compound while the other moved to Marcus's side and helped with the weight. 

They managed to limp into the compound much more quickly now with the aid of the guard, and were greeted by and elderly man. His hair was grey and wispy, he looked incredibly frail, but a large bag clutched in his hand belied his strength. He spoke quickly and softly, taking control of the situation. Marcus was held up while the healer gave him a thorough, but short examination. His brow was knotted in concentration as his hands felt the broken ribcage, and examined the skull for fractures. 

He clucked his teeth and whistled under his breath. 

"Bring him to the infirmary." The short and clipped command was followed instantly; the guard and the unknown saviour took the weight once again holding Marcus up and following the healers long striding footsteps. 

The rhythmic sound of footsteps was a monotonous tone. Marcus's head dropped as he gave into sleep, the void beckoned him. 

* * * *

A vision of a golden hall enthralled him. Sunlight flashed off of the roof, and the rays of warmth washed over him. He breathed in and found that this was like drinking a cool cup of water, his lungs cried out in joy as he felt his ribcage whole once again, he felt no pain from the battering he took, and his body was whole once again. 

The doors of the hall opened for him, and he walked forward to them, like a siren, the huge hall called to him, and he supplicated, picking up a quick stride. He was dressed in no ordinary rags, a fine tunic and trousers of blue covered him, and strong leather boots covered what was once bare feet. 

He wriggled his toes and smiled. 

The open doors had a huge relief carved on them. A dragon with a rider in armour was done in exquisite detail, a testament to huge skill, and a massive imagination. He shook his head and grinned, as if a mighty dragon would allow a rider. 

_You would not believe what I would allow…_

Marcus looked up in horror as a dragon reared above him. Its golden facets glinted in the sun, and its glorious stature was truly awe-inspiring. 

_So you are one of the Chosen, yes? It does not surprise me; they come in all shapes and sizes._ Marcus did not see the dragon smile or speak, but the image of a grinning face occupied his mind. 

_Yes, I thought-speak, 'tis much easier than abusing vocal chords, no?_ The image of a laughing dragon appeared again and Marcus actually smiled. 

"So you mean me no harm then, noble one?" There was still a hint of hysteria in his voice. 

_No harm will come to you in this realm little one. You are protected. Protected by us,_ and this time the dragon waved a clawed arm and Marcus saw golden and silver dragons flit across the landscape, frolicking in the huge atmosphere, _and by our Lord and Master. You shall go inside now, little one, for he awaits you._ The dragon thought smiled and took off into the air, it's massive wings reared upwards as it took off. 

Marcus gaped in awe as the huge creature dived through the air and disappeared from view. He looked out into the air again and took a deep breath, and walked into the hall. 


	4. Chapter 4: Body and Soul

A tall woman in red armour turned to look at Marcus as he entered the hall. Nodding brusquely, she then turned back to a tall man dressed smartly, and bowed, flourishing a smile. As she walked away from the man, a grin etched across her features, as she recognised the human that had walked into the hall. She knew parts of his future, and she knew what might happen to him. The Red Knight grinned widely again and vanished back to her realm. 

"Welcome my boy! Glad I am to see you this day!" The voice boomed out from the large man, echoing in the arched hall. "You're looking in fine health, if I do say so my self. Some of those Ilmaterians do know how to heal, eh? When you return, you'll be right as rain…" _And in my image, he thought grimly. This boy's life is more complicated than Lloth's webs…_ He almost shuddered at the mental image, but a deity would not be fazed by some damn spider-woman. 

Marcus stared in astonishment at the figure on the dais above him, so regal and powerful, this man exuded an air of authority and might. But gentleness too, he did not seem to be a callous man, just brash. Marcus knelt quickly, bowing his head in supplication. He was not worthy of gazing at this man. 

"Oh get up Marcus! You're beginning to look like some silly wretch. This is my plane, and I bid thee welcome to it, for it is your destiny to be in my service." The man sprang down from the dais athletically, and walked towards the kneeling Marcus. He took hold of his shoulder and gently pulled him up, looking him in the eyes. 

Marcus was tall, but so was this man, they were so alike, bright and intense blue eyes, dark brown hair, cropped short. Strong cheekbones gave height to his face, and a noble brow furrowed as the unknown man wondered why Marcus stared at him so. 

Marcus summoned up enough courage and swallowed deeply, "My… My lord, please do not think I am impertinent, but we look much alike! We seem so… similar…" 

Torm smiled wanly. "Yes, we do look similar. There are reasons for this, of course, would you care to listen? Ah, but of course you would, you would not have asked otherwise…" Torm's eyes twinkled brightly as a smile spread across his features. 

"You were born to an entirely normal human family in Tantras, the harbour city. It was there that I battled Bane, and emerged the victor, but at great sacrifice. Your parents were part of the group that sacrificed themselves so that Bane may have been defeated. I despised sacrificing so many, but Bane was a horror to the world, and deserved his death. You were one of the children of the parents, and you are known as the Martyr's Progeny, there are few in this world. They do not all look like me, nor do they share your strength and courage, some are normal, some have done other things. There was none other than your parents to look after you, and so you were left alone. After my death in Tantras…" Torm stopped, steeling himself for this revelation, "After my death in Tantras, some of my divinity must have escaped my mortal shell, Ao granted me life once again, but during my death, a shred of my soul found its escape and left for another body. I have been looking for you for a long time Marcus. You hold that spark." 

Marcus gasped in shock at the thought of having divine essences flowing in him. "My Lord! How can I? I can be hurt like any other, and I am not a powerful being…" 

"You do not have immortality, you have a scrap, a small piece of my power, but that piece was enough for you to grow in my image, to exhibit more strength and speed than others. Look at you my boy! You are tall, strong, and you have a charisma that draws others unto you. Nay my boy, you are not immortal, but you are partly my progeny, and your destiny is undecided. You, and you alone control your life. Tymora holds no sway over you choosing your path, you can choose to ignore what you have heard, or you can listen further, and I can tell you of what I wish you to be…" 

* * * *

Dania watched with intent as the healer took careful attention with the handsome man that just been carried in. She was enraptured by him, his height, and his build; even when unconscious he radiated a protective strength. She sighed as the healer Jessop wrapped lint bandages around his chest, covering and supporting the vicious battering that he took. She worried of internal bleeding in his lungs, possibly even entering his heart, but with furrowed brow she walked towards his bedside, proffering a draft of potion to the healer. 

"Thank you Dania, hopefully this potion will gain him a little restful sleep. Note his eyes twitching beneath his lids. He is dreaming currently, probably a nightmare about the attack, but he should pull through." He raised Marcus' head slightly and parted the dry and bloodied lips gently, slowly pouring the cool liquid down his parched throat. 

"…If you've stopped day-dreaming, Dania, I would like some water myself, thank you." Dania shook her head, kicking out the cobwebs. She was staring intently at the mans prone form, worry etched across her features. "He will be fine dearest Dania, he will be fine. He was very fortunate to be found, Ilmater willing, he will pull through, but it will be a while before he is up and moving again. We must let him rest, for he will need time to recover fully." 

Dania nodded abruptly and turned, her long gown flowing in her wake as she went to get Jessop's water. Her thoughts raced madcap, she felt an instant physical attraction to the man, _as would many women,_ she thought bitterly, _but why am I so concerned! I know not this man, yet I feel that he must be looked after, and well at that._ Her mind whirling, she moved on automatically, carrying the goblet of water for Jessop. She failed to notice an armoured figure walk in front of her. She clattered into him, and the man grabbed her arm before she fell. The water, luckily, was clutched in her hand. 

"My lady, I apologise for colliding with you thus! You must accept my humble apologies…" The knight frowned worriedly, but Dania smiled. 

"It is my fault my Lord, I apologise for paying no attention! I must rush though, healer Jessop is a demanding, but fair master." Her face sparkled, her perfect mouth framing a beaming smile; her emerald eyes glinted in the light. Striking blonde hair would flow down her back, but for a small grip holding it up for practical purposes. 

"I am glad I have found you then! How is the boy that I found earlier?" The gentle knights face again dropped into a worried frown, "I hope he was not found too late…" His voice trailed off in a foreboding manner, brown eyes displaying a real concern for his well-being. 

"For the meantime, he is asleep, though his injuries were indeed brutal, healer Jessop believes he will recover, given time. Considering his injuries, I've not seen the like before, it was a brutal and horrid attack, and those that did it, meant to do grievous harm to him…" Dania considered her limited experience in healing. "My Lord, I am but newly apprenticed to healer Jessop, but I already know he is in the best of hands. Ilmater watches over the boy, and wards him from harm, for there is nary a better healer than Jessop." 

The knight smiled warmly. "Indeed, dear Lady, I have more than a few scratches that Jessop has repaired for me. Although more seems to come in my late age!" He raised his eyebrows and laughed. "I think that my time has come to stop missions for the order, my wife and children deserve more time and devotion." 

"Indeed sir Farrel, your lady wife must miss you dearly, I have found that any partner of a man or woman in the order must miss them, given the time that you are away." 

"It is true, I am afraid, but now, whilst I have leave, I will go and see my wife. If the young man recovers soon, give him my compliments; it will not be long before I see how he is myself. I pray to Torm that he will recover soon." Farrel touched his amulet on his breast and closed his eyes, uttering a silent prayer to the heavens. 

They took their leave and Dania hurried onto the healing wards with Jessop's water, not wishing to waste any time. She arrived as Jessop mopped the brow of the young man. "He is sleeping soundly now, periodically, I wish him to receive a mixture of water and these herbs…" Jessop reeled off a list of sundry herbs, and took a drink of the cool water Dania had brought him. 

Dania continued to mop the boy's brow, sitting by his bedside, and Jessop smiled on the inside. _Such a gentle soul,_ he thought, so caring. _She will be a good wife for a man in the future…_

Jessop looked at his patient one last time and clucked his tongue. How anyone could do this to someone amazed him, yet it was his job to repair the damage, and that he would. 

* * * *

In Torm's realm, Marcus listened in rapt attention as Torm told him of one of his possible futures… 


	5. Chapter 5: A Beautiful Friendship

"So my parents didn't die of illness then! I suppose that does reveal my past somewhat." Marcus looked puzzled as he tried to tidy his thoughts. "But I wonder about this Paladin order you mention, I have no education. Surely I will not fit in with those people, they will surely be more suited to it than I!" 

Torm nodded his head in understanding. "You worry about how you will fit in and it is not undue worry either! I am loath to admit it, but there are some very… arrogant knights in my service. Though they mean well, they are often not understanding of some Paladin's that are not of noble upbringing. You have already met one Paladin, Sir Farrel. He is entering his final period of service, but his duty will not keep him far from the temple. Such is their dedication..." Torm grinned widely, flashing a brilliant smile. 

"My lord, you are of course, right. To be in your service would be an honour, but if I may, might I have some time to decide? I would like to be back home, to try and understand my future, as complex as it may well be." Marcus sighed and looked at the deity. 

"Of course dear boy! You may take some time to decide. It is not a light decision, for any in my service must be faithful to the order, and to the service they are held in. Take a few days, and discuss your future with Farrel. He can advise you as well as any…" 

Marcus smiled appreciatively, and bowed. Nodding, Torm directed him to the door out of the hall. 

"As soon as you step through this doorway, you will return to the real world. Rest easy my son, for your decision should not be rushed." 

Marcus walked out of the door, and the world faded to black. 

* * * *

Marcus woke with a start, almost jumping out of bed. A girl nearby shrieked loudly as he leapt out from under the covers, a damp cloth stuck to his forehead. Marcus grabbed the cloth and dropped it on the bed, frantically taking in his surroundings. 

"Where am I? What place is this? I do not know you!" His voice echoed in the stark, bare walls of the infirmary. Dania tried to utter an answer, but her heart was racing in fright and surprise. She stopped, and took a deep, calming breath. 

"You are in the Order of the Golden Lion's infirmary. You were grievously wounded, and you were brought here for healing." She gathered her composure, and looked at the man sternly. "Now lie down and rest! You are not in the health to be jumping around half naked!" Her face blushed crimson as she noticed his bare chest, such defined muscles, such a gorgeous body… _Stop it! You are to be professional about this!_ She admonished herself. 

He looked at her blush with a raised eyebrow and nodded his head, he crawled back into the bed and settled the blanket. He looked down at the bandages, and noticed they had come loose. She joined his gaze, and tutted under her breath. Getting up from her chair, she walked to a tray of dressings and compresses. Selecting a suitable length, she asked him to sit up. 

"I'm going to cut away these bandages and replace them with fresh ones." Dania skilfully cut away the loose bandages and placed them on the bedside table. Grabbing the loose end of the fresh bandage, she started to wrap the dressing around his chest. 

Marcus felt electric touches anywhere the young nurse touched him. He shivered at the sensation, not unpleasant, in fact, wholly gratifying. He sat stock still as she continued her work, slowly and carefully covering his wounds. 

Her fingers tingled at their every contact with his body, and she blushed inside at the pleasing sensation, revelling in the drunken and overflowing feelings that flooded her. She made her way up his chest and ribcage, relatively slowly. She felt hideously wicked, but enjoyed the feeling immensely. There was no denying he had a raw and enigmatic pull. 

As she began to finish off her work, Marcus admired the nurse's features, a regal face, golden skin and glittering eyes, she was beautiful, he thought. Stuck in his observation, he failed to notice her tie off the bandage and raise her face towards him. 

Their faces drew closer together, and an electric feeling coursed through their bodies as they made contact, looking intently at each other, their eyes taking in every detail about each other. Marcus licked his lips, and Dania closed her eyes, expecting a most glorious sensation. 

"Good to see you awake and well my boy!" Boomed sir Farrel, "You're looking fine and dandy, indeed! Much better than what you were, at any rate!" He smiled warmly and walked through the open doorway. 

Dania recovered quickly, and collecting the old bandaging, went to dispose of it. 

Marcus cursed his luck, but smiled at the newcomer. 

"I thank you my lord. I take it that it was you who helped me outside the poor house?" 

"Indeed so! 'Twas I, and I thank Torm that I was lucky enough to find you before it was too late, you're injuries were not pleasant, though I do know healer Jessop knows the business well enough!" He grinned again and laughed loudly. He moved to Marcus' bed and sat at the bottom. He reached out and clasped Marcus' hand. 

"My name is Farrel, and I am doubly pleased that I was able to make your acquaintance, might I ask yours?" 

"Indeed so, my name is Marcus, though I have no surname, I'm afraid that a poorhouse isn't too worried about formal names..." Marcus exclaimed bitterly, but then looked confused, as Farrel's face wrinkled in thought. 

"What is the matter my lord? Have I upset you somehow? I did not mean too!" 

"Nay good lad," sighed Farrel, "I had a good friend named Mark, a good friend indeed, and you remind me of him, you're mannerisms anyway. I'm afraid he died in Tantras during the Time of Troubles…" He sighed wanly, and looked up at Marcus' tear streaked face. "What is the matter child?" He asked softly. He put his hand on the boys shoulder, and raised the boys face with his other hand. 

"My parents died in Tantras… I had just found out, a vision told me. A vision of Torm told me you would help me decide." He said softly. "Everything is so damned confusing! Gods I wish I was normal!" Marcus shouted loudly, cursing his ill fortune. 

The knight sighed softly and looked at Marcus, steely determination was on the boy's features, and a hard look marred Marcus' eyes. 

"You're life is confusing right now, I have no doubt, but to be aggressive like that, and to hold a grudge will do you no good. Life normally has a way of working out, and it seems like you've already found a nice lady to talk too…" A wicked grin brightened the old knights features, and he winked at Marcus. 

"I would appreciate it if you left my infirmary now," said Jessop brusquely, "I wish to take care of my patient, if you please…" With one final wink, Farrel bowed deeply to Jessop, and left the infirmary. 

"Some people…" muttered Jessop. 


	6. Chapter 6: A New Age

_Authors Note: I re-wrote the last chapter (Chapter 5: A Beautiful Friendship) somewhat, as I felt that the language was poor, and the writing wasn't what I wanted it to be. Check it out again, I promise it's better! _

I also wish to thank Ildera (and sibling) and Taffia for their reviews. They have helped a great deal, and I hope this chapter reflects their advice. 

* * * *

The vicious and distinctive sound of a whip crack echoed through the small confines of the cavern. A small boy cried out in pain as the lash cut through his skin, drawing a long shallow gash. The boy sobbed in agony as blood beaded and ran down his swollen, filthy back. A small Gnomish woman held the boy to her chest, and ran her fingers through his hair, uttering soothing words. The boy sniffled and wiped his nose on the back of his arm. 

"Why does it hurt so much Lara?" He sniffed again, "Why do they hit us so hard! We're doing our best!" The Gnome made to reply, but was cut off by a harsh, guttural voice. 

"You'd best not be speakin' down there! The master'll not hold with tongue wagging!" The man brandished the whip threateningly again, and snarled at the two in the tiny workspace. "Get on with it!" 

"Come little one, let us not be hurt again…" The Gnome's soothing voice placated the boy, and he nodded his head, the drops of tears running down his filthy, grime covered face. Lara's heart swelled in pity as the boy bent down and carried back the debris she was clearing, the skin of his back clearly ravaged more than once. 

She collected her pick again and hammered it into the wall, clearing away another portion of the wall. The work was backbreaking, the food was poor and irregular, and they worked incredibly long shifts, not stopping for water or a rest for longer than a minute. 

Such was the harsh and horrid lifestyle of press-ganged labour. They had no choice in the matter, for any attempt to run from the slave camp was met with instant obliteration. "A warning," as the overseer said on their entrance to the slave camp, "Your life is now ours. Do not tempt fate. Just work." The man had left after that, and they rarely saw him. He made few appearances to the employed staff of the camp, and even fewer to the slaves that were held there. The guards and slave drivers were all he needed, for even they scared the slaves into the harsh work. 

The slaves were not entirely sure of the work they were actually here to do. It was never explained to them, and they supposed that it never would be. Some considered themselves lucky to be alive even now. Many had died in the cave-ins, or had simply fallen down, never to get up again. The work was hard, and the slave drivers knew it, but no pity was given, never an inch of quarter. They started at dawn, and ended at dusk. The slaves were replaced regularly. Mostly orphans, but a few of the smaller races, Gnomes like Lara, or Halflings, never a Dwarf though, they're racial heritage was too important, they were used as engineers, and if they didn't know stone lore or mining, they were discarded out of hand, much to great a risk otherwise... 

The small cavern was more like a grave than a mine. Dark and dingy, a weak lantern flittered dancing shadows across the wall. Their sinuous movements were surreal in the low light. Water dripped down from the roof of the mine, and the splash of the intermittent drops echoed loudly through the confined space of the cavern. The occasional sharp crack of a pick disturbed the otherwise silent cavern, and the crumbling of rock and creaking of the supporting joists went unnoticed by the unfortunate workers. 

Lara sighed softly. Her features were grimy and sweat streaked, and a stooped back belied the backbreaking labour forced on them. She returned to her work with the resigned knowledge that it could get no better for her. 

* * * *

_Two years later…_

Marcus bowed to his fencing partner, and took up the standard beginning position for a duel. His partner nodded his head and stamped his foot forward loudly, advancing rapidly forward in an attack that attempted to drive him in a wild retreat. Marcus met the blade of the attacker and parried, striking the blade away from a possible point against him. He did continue to retreat, his feet danced along the mat, away from the rapier. 

The towering spires of the Orders temple rose gloriously into the sky, the battlements rose high above both combatants, and the warm, but not oppressive heat of a Tantrassan summer provoked a sheen of sweat on the fencers. The sun continued to rain down, basking the courtyard in glorious light, only a small area of shade beneath the battlements gave any respite, and that is where the fencing-master watched his charges appraisingly. 

Oblivious of anything other than the man in front of him, Marcus continued to defend the deft strokes from the rapier used by his counterpart. The familiar rhythm fell over Marcus, and his sole focus was the battle. He observed his opponent, watching any traces of thought or movement. Two parried lunges later, Marcus knew his opponents weakness. 

Marcus observed the strike one last time. Yes! There it was, his left hand flicked before the series of offensives began. The other fencer slashed across, lunged and drove the point of his sword upward, a disembowelling move if it connected, but Marcus flashed his blade downward and counteracted the stroke. Marcus waited until the fingers flicked again, and then jumped backwards, with a lack of resistance, the other fencer jerked to his left and was left open. Marcus lithely pressed forward and pressed lethal attacks, scoring a flurry of points against him. 

A gong sounded, and Marcus' opponent tore his fencing guard off and slammed it into the ground, knowing his loss. Marcus calmly removed his helmet and offered his hand. The other fencer gripped it, but only because etiquette called for such, and stomped off, angry at the defeat. 

"Finely fought my boy! You did well, though it took you long enough!" Sir Farrel advanced towards Marcus and clapped a hand on his shoulder. In the two years that Marcus had acquiesced his wish to join the local academy, Farrel had gained a few more streaks of grey at his temples, but a full head of thick black hair gave him a more youthful appearance. Likewise his crystal blue eyes, they had verve and vitality and when a regular smiled creased his features, they twinkled in delight. He still carried himself with grace and dignity, but had retired his armour, becoming ever more the role of tutor and confidant in the students. Indeed, his role as adviser and counsellor of the academy, given to him as a resigning commission, was a prudent and wise move by the clergy. They had a trustworthy and reliable man in Farrel, one who had unswerving loyalty to his students. 

"I thank you, Sir, indeed it did take a long time! But I am glad to say that our House once again has risen in ranks, returning to its former glory. I am saddened by my opponents grace though, did I offend him?" Marcus' innocent eyes questioned Farrel, and the older man sighed, rubbing his forehead. 

"You know the group have not accepted you as yet Marcus, they were unwilling from the start! Give it time though, on your graduation, and your assignment as a group, they will respect you more. They just dislike you're talent!" Once again Farrel smiled warmly, as did Marcus. "Now, to more serious matters, what is the matter with your studies? You've fallen behind in Mathematics and Geometry, your only saving grace is your Military History and Tactics!" A grave look came across Farrel's face, as he knew that graduation was not allowed without passing the entire syllabus. "Do you need extra tuition again? You are popular within your own House, I have no doubt that there are those that will give it you…" 

Marcus sighed and shook his head. "Why do I need to learn pointless Geometry?" A look of exasperation marred his features. "I'll never use the pointless numbers, as you will probably know!" 

Farrel clucked his tongue, and put his head at an angle, giving the youth a look of questioning. "Never use it…" He said softly. "My boy, it does not matter that you may _not_ use it," he put emphasis on the word not, "but the matter is that you _may_ use it. Being prepared and knowing what to do in any situation is what separates us from barbarians or animals. We are Paladins, of a noble order! If we attack a redoubt, or a fortress, and you need to bring a wall down, will your engineers not need to know the precise angle and slope you need to attack? When you must protect a group of villagers, and you yourself have to create defensive positions, will you not need to know precise and best points of defence?" Farrel's eyes gleamed with passion as he burst forth in vibrant candour. "My dear boy, Mathematics is not just about counting sheep! You must learn it, because it is your duty…" Farrel again touched his shirt underneath which laid his holy symbol, and the mention of his Lords domain gave him an automatic response. 

Marcus stood rapt in attention, watching his every move. Every syllable uttered gave him focus and drive. He would follow him to the very bottom of Hell and back… 

"So you see Marcus, we are not here to become just sword-waving preachers. We are here to become educated defenders of the realm. We are here to show Torm's truth, duty and loyalty, not to become some fanatics, and do not forget that! Always remember your tenets of duty and loyalty, follow them, and you shall be a true servant of Torm…" 

The young Paladin in training never failed to be amazed by Farrel's candour and passion when speaking of his God. It was like Torm himself possessed him. Marcus shook his head, and Farrel looked at him again, this time, calmly and measured, his voice in gentle tones. 

"So you will study Marcus, you will study for your exams, and you will pass, because Torm himself wishes you too…" He laid a hand on the boys shoulder and squeezed tightly. "Go and change, and then continue with your lessons." He turned briskly, and the even and regular steps of his boots echoed away from the courtyard. 

Marcus looked up at the sky, and felt the sun beam down on him. He now felt inspired, and knew that today he reached a turning point. He would do that which Torm required of him, to be the absolute best... 


	7. Chapter 7: New Beginnings, New Friends

Charles O'Kane shuddered at the hastily dug grave near his city of Ravens Bluff. "What drives a man to do such as this?" He asked incredulously. The stench was revolting, the warm climate had begun to take its toll on the bodies, and the carcasses had begun to rot. Already the accompanying physician that travelled with them had retched violently, and some of the recruits of the city guard looked on, disgusted at what assailed them. 

The Mayor of Ravens Bluff shook his head. Heavy set, he was an experienced warrior, and earned his trade as an adventurer before settling down in the city known as a haven for his old profession. He had begun to turn away from the pile of bodies, but movement shook him into action. "Get the carrion away from the bodies! I'll have no more defilement of these poor souls!" The sergeant of the accompanying patrol went into action quickly. He broke his tall chestnut stallion into a trot, and advanced forward to the grave. But no carrion disturbed the corpses. 

"Milord! This is no beast! There is… there is someone moving!" A look of horror overcame his features, and his mouth widened in surprise. "You two! Come and help!" The sergeant called to two of his more senior men and they rode quickly to him, trying to find the poor soul buried alive. 

Lara's head emerged, blinking in the warm sunlight. She gasped for breath, and thrust a small unconscious boy out before her, and the sergeant grabbed him, giving him to the physician. He checked his breathing and pulse, and satisfied he was alive, began examining the wounds inflicted on the boy of no more than ten years old. 

Lara stood on shaky, but proud feet, and demanded to see that the boy was being looked after properly. The sergeant helped her over to the physician, and satisfied with his safety, collapsed to the floor, dehydrated and exhausted with the effort of keeping both alive. 

The Mayor dismounted and pressed a canteen of water into her hands, and looked at her gravely as she slowly took of the crisp and cool water. Her thirst temporarily slaked, she looked up and nodded thankfully to O'Kane. 

"I thank ye for your help sir, I thought we'd be stuck under there forever! It was lucky you came jus' then, right enough. I thought we'd be done for…" She shivered at the thought, and swallowed a drop more water. 

"Slowly dear woman, slowly. Too much water will make you even worse." She nodded appreciatively and plucked at the tattered shirt covering her small frame. "Are you feeling well enough to tell me of your ordeal? What happened here? All we've found is the site of a camp, and this… travesty." 

A look of confusion and anger came across Lara's normally placid features. "This, milord, was a slave camp." She said bitterly. "We were all occupants until recently. We were digging in a mine for something, we weren't sure what, but as soon as we found whatever he wanted, he did this…" She jerked her head at the grave in disgust. "The boy and I survived by hiding in the grave. It was horrid. Everyone was confused, and people were just being cut down were they stood, or even worse, burnt alive by spells by his magi. They all died…" Her eyes welled with tears as she remembered the death of those around her. 

O'Kane looked on with horror as Lara retold her tale. The fact that it had occurred was bad enough, but it was made even worse by the fact that it was so close to his jurisdiction. 

"So we hid until you have found us milord, and what I will do now, I know not. The boy must be looked after, he did not deserve a life such as this." She said sadly. Lara looked up at the man standing above her, and a look of curiosity flickered across her features. "This may seem rude sir, but who are you?" She seemed embarrassed by her question. "I do not recognise your face…" 

He smiled wanly, and rubbed his tired eyes. "My name is Charles O'Kane, I am Mayor of Ravens Bluff, the closest city to this… horror." He spat the word with disgust and venom, trying to wipe it from his mouth. "We came across you when we received reports of strange amounts of activity on the roads nearby. Obviously this was what caused the movements. Do not worry though Lara; this act will not go unpunished. Those responsible will be found, and retribution will be swift and just. 

"Oh no," she said, "not swift. Make it long and painful…" A steely glint came across her eyes, and she almost shuddered at the thought of the murderers getting their fitting ends. 

* * * *

Dania held tightly onto Marcus' hand as they walked through a lush and beautiful park in Tantras, the sun was warm on the backs, and the soft tinkling of an enchanted waterfall made a pleasant and relaxing setting. She breathed in the clean, fresh air of the park and smiled. She took joy from the sheer simplicity of being with her beloved in a park, lately, they hadn't had the option, her studies being as full and strenuous as his. However, soon they might have to split apart for a while. Marcus had to travel for his period of Squire-ship, and she would either be left to nurse in a hospital, or travel as a wondering Cleric, sharing Ilmater's healing grace with any who required. 

But for now, she would walk and be with Marcus, enjoying the life that might be denied to them. 

They stopped and sat down on a lush, grassy verge. She lay with her head on his lap, and he played with the blades of grass under his hands, watching as the grass stained his hands green. 

Marcus lowered his head and looked into her crystalline eyes, she returned the gaze warmly. No words were said. All they needed to talk to each other was their eyes. 

She closed her eyelids and he bent down, taking the sides of her head with his strong hands. He kissed her forehead, the familiar tingle rushed through him again, and he slowly kissed down her nose to her mouth. Their lips joined in a tight embrace, kissing softly at first, and then gaining strength, the rush going through them as their hearts raced and adrenaline rushed. Love blossomed like the flowers in the park. A bee flew into the warm embrace of a white lily. It danced inside and landed on the petals, flicking its wings as it collected the sweet nectar from inside. Marcus pulled away from Dania's loving kiss, and they both looked on as the bee flew from lily to lily, one part of a massive machine-like organisation, oblivious to all apart from that which concerned them. 

Marcus stroked Dania's hair as they sat in silence, reflecting on the warm day. He cleared his throat, and Dania turned to look at him, a questioning look on her face. He continued to look out at the park, but licked his lips. 

"I think…" He stumbled over the words he wanted to use. Conflicting emotions scattered thoughts to the winds. "I think that by the end of this week we will find out what will happen with our postings." He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with a free hand. "I'm so nervous about losing you, it's been such a short while since we met. Maybe I should put in a request to Farrel, mayhap he will let us be posted together, or even in the same area…" His eyes flickered down to hers, and their gazes locked. She smiled warmly, her features lighting up, bringing an aching joy to his heart. _To lose her would be unthinkable…_ He thought. 

"Wherever you go, and wherever I go, we will find each other love…" She clutched his hand and entwined her fingers in his. He took up their locked embrace and kissed the back of her hand. She smiled again. "We've become much too strong to let distance separate us. Let us enjoy the rest of this week, and take memories from it. For if we are parted, our return will be all the sweeter." She clutched his hand again and sat up, daintily kissing his forehead. 

"Come, let us return to the Order house. You must prepare for your ceremony tomorrow!" She poked him in the chest and got up, laughing. He grinned widely and got up from the floor. They walked down the cobbled pathway, Marcus' boots ringing out a consistent beat, Dania's light steps with nary a sound. They reached the gate and walked out of the park, out into Tantras proper. 

* * * *

The heavy, echoing bang of a metal shod, oaken staff rang through the hallway. The Chaplain of the Order looked proud and imperious in heavy blue and gold robes. A bald palate signified aging, but lively grey eyes flickered from face to face, as if he dared them to speak after he had called them to silence. He smiled briefly, lines under his eyes flashing and showing his true age, but they disappeared quickly as his stony resolve returned, etched into his features. 

The assembled gathering looked on intently, those serving Paladins and Knights of the Order dressed in shining armour, plate or otherwise dazzled the low lantern light that was required. The other guests in more 'ordinary' clothing still cut an impressive figure, ecclesiastical attire, fanciful nobleman, even the occasional merchant showed up dressed in fine silks and clothe. Fashion statement, and fashion horrors were in equal abundance. 

The door of the temple flew open, and Farrel, dressed once again in his martial armour stood proud as the waning daylight filtered in from behind his back, lighting half his features, leaving the other half in shade. His noble bearing stiffened as he called the students from behind him into the hall with a short bark of command, he took up the pace, and they followed him. 

They marched down the aisle of the temple 2 by 2, military precision marking every footfall, a regular and even pace their only timekeeper. They came in impeccably, lined up before the Chaplain. Farrel barked another word of command, and they all sank to one knee, looks of determination on some faces, others a mixture of awe and excitement. 

The Chaplain again banged his staff on the floor and asked the congregation to sit. 

"Today," he began in a loud echoing voice, "you finally become that which you have wished to achieve for the past years. You were all destined to become one of Torm's faithful, and so you shall. Your life is dedicated to His service, as he dedicates Himself to you." He paused for effect, letting his words sink into the crowd and his students. He revelled in this situation; he almost shuddered in delight. "You know of your tenets of faith: duty, loyalty, honour and dedication to your flock. You will tend them, and you will guide them, and if they err, it is your job to return them to the side that is good and lawful. Bow your heads in prayer." 

As one, the congregation lowered their heads in supplication, uttering prayers. The Chaplain moved through the Paladins in training and blessed them with Holy Water, and soft prayers. 

"Go now, my children, and spread the word of Torm, The True Deity." 

The watching crowd burst into applause as Farrel called the about-turn and the new Squires left the temple as they entered, organised and marching. As they exited they all turned, grinning widely. Shaking each other's hands, promising that they would keep in contact, old enmities forgotten. In the Order's eyes, they were new Paladins, low ranking, but Paladin's none-the-less. 

Marcus' last opponent in the house fencing competition sidled up to him. 

"Sorry about the misunderstanding, old boy. I'm just not used to be being beaten is all." He laughed warmly and stuck out his hand. "You know, in all my time training here I never knew your name…" He tailed off in a question and Marcus smiled in reply. 

"Marcus, and believe it or not, I know you James. I watched you practice, I learned a few techniques from you." James looked on in shock and then burst out in laughter, slapping Marcus on the back. 

"Well Marcus, I was beaten fair and square. How's about we find out what we're going to be doing?" He jerked his head in the direction of Farrel; scroll in hand, telling the Paladins their new assignments. 

"Why not?" 

They ambled over to the dwindling crowd and waited at the back. James and Marcus ended up being last in the queue. Farrel grinned when he saw them, and jumped from the step he was using as a pedestal. 

"I'm glad you two boys found each other! Looks like you're off to Raven's Bluff boys! Now, a word of advice; it's a baptism of fire, don't get me wrong, but you two'll do fine, the only reason you were given the assignment is because you can handle yourselves, and you're not idiots." He grinned and punched James on the arm who looked shocked at first, then laughed. Marcus just smiled. "It seems that there's been some disturbances in the area in and around Raven's Bluff, and you've got to look into the problems. The Mayor, Charles O'Kane, Torm bless his soul, is an old adventurer I knew, and I got in contact with him when I found it was you going. He's had the local Mage guild front up a Wizard for you, so you'll have some support at least. As it stands though, you'll essentially be wondering the woodlands around it, trying to find some clues as to what happened. They've got no idea at all…" 

He grinned again and rolled his eyes, and then grabbed the two boys, one hand on each shoulder, his face took on a serious note. "Don't do anything stupid and run off after something, you're to report anything you find to the Mayor, who can take it from there. Be careful." He emphasised that, and then smiled. Reassuring them. "Come on then, there's a few drinks that shouldn't be drunk in the common room. How about we dispose of them?" He winked. 

"I'm all for that!" Laughed James. 

One hand around each Paladin's shoulder, Farrel guided the boys to the ale. 


	8. Chapter 8: Winding Roads and Crossed Tra...

_Sorry for the delay folks, exam time and so on. Luckily, I'm finished and will be working soon, so no out of schoolwork to do! Woohoo!_

Marcus and James wondered down the dusty road to Ravens Bluff. The dense forest on both sides, and the long trail in front of them were the only things visible. The road was long and straight, with little meandering. They walked in silence, all conversation expended quickly within the first few hours of travel. James pulled his water bottle off of his belt strap and squirted a short stream into his mouth. He swilled it about and spat it out onto the roadside. The dust plumed upwards as heavy footfalls broke the relatively peaceful and quiet countryside. 

The soft and mellow birdcalls greeted them on the roadside, and the rustling of leaves as they flitted in and out of the tree line was the only distractions on the road for the young men. 

Marcus was remembering the lingering kiss as he departed Dania, how tightly he held her to him, how he almost wept seeing her smiling face look up at him. Even though they weren't that distant from each other, the length of time they had shared caused greater pain than normal. He rubbed his eyelids and sighed deeply. 

His head snapped up when he heard raucous screaming from the roadside, screaming wildly, a trio of gibberlings raced down at them, twitching violently and salivating at the mouth. The shrill ring of steel on steel awakened him from the initial shock, and James had withdrawn his slender rapier and stood in a fighting position, preparing for the attack by widening his stance. Marcus swung his shield around from his back and pulled his longsword from his hip scabbard, and braced his shield forward on his left hand, the sturdy longsword prepared for an incoming foe. 

One gibberling ran straight at James, with a flourish, he slashed the beast across the throat. Blood spurted from the savaged neck, and the animal gurgled wildly as it felt its life force spurt out. James pirouetted out of the way, spinning smoothly, unluckily, the gibberling managed to reach out and grip his boot, pulling him back with its dead weight. James was dumped rather unceremoniously and fell backwards, catching his head on the floor. 

Meanwhile, Marcus was facing off against the other two. One ran straight at him, the other coming from his blade side. Rather than wait and allow them both to meet and challenge him, he advanced forwards, shield ready for the impact. He crashed it forward, smashing it in the face of the oncoming gibberling. The clash was titanic. Though small in weight, the gibberling had built momentum and the shock jarred Marcus, he froze for a second and then span to face the other gibberling. 

Gibberlings are short, hairy little animals that are invariably covered in diseases and filth. This was no exception. It stopped and looked at Marcus warily, and then advanced, screeching a wild and unintelligible war cry. Marcus sidestepped to the right, and kicked his boot out, tripping it. With a savage thrust of his sword he skewered the gibberling in the back, severing its spinal cord. It screamed shrilly and then finally jerked in its death throes. Marcus moved on swiftly to the gibberling he had shield-bashed. Planting his boot firmly on its chest, he stabbed swiftly downwards, tearing its throat out. It coughed blood and twitched, and finally expired, its final breath of air fetid and disgusting. The warrior looked away in disgust. 

"Ye Gods!" cried James, "What hit me?" He was rubbing the back of his head, his other hand trying to find his blade. Clutching it by the hilt, he staggered up and walked over to Marcus. He sniffed and nearly retched. "Not your cleanest work my friend…" He laughed and then grimaced in pain. Sheathing his rapier, he grabbed one of the bodies and dumped it by the roadside. Marcus helped him move the others. 

With the three bodies cleared, they stood on the other side of the road, away from the decaying stench. "Do you think there's more of them nearby? Creature lore wasn't my best subject, but I'm sure the animals travel in packs." 

Marcus looked thoughtful for a moment, and clucked his tongue. "Maybe. It would be unlikely for them to be too far from the pack either. It might be an idea for us to see if we can see any signs of the little buggers anywhere near. They might become a nuisance for the road here…" 

James nodded his head in agreement, and took a swig from his water pouch. "Let us away then, and see if we can find any more of the vile little things." He grinned and jerked his head to the roadside. He grimaced again and Marcus laughed loudly. 

The trees on the roadside made the forest appear dense, but there was little vegetation barring the paladin's way. They made quick progress through the sparse area. Marcus stopped when James dropped to his haunches. "There were definitely more than three of them. See this line here? It's a deeper cut than what three would make. The three must have travelled our way," he pointed in the direction they had come, "and the others must have split with them here." He pointed in the opposite direction. "So, we travel that way." James leant a hand on his rapier's hilt and whistled a short little tune under his breath. He lead the way up the trail the horde had passed and occasionally kicked at a stone. 

They reached a clearing where carcasses of animals lay strewn about randomly. It lacked the construction of a human camp at any rate. The sound of running and random cursing drew the attention of the warriors, and they noticed how a woman came hurtling towards them, running very quickly, occasionally turning around. The reason for her flight was obvious as the howls and screeching of gibberlings became readily apparent. After the initial shock of seeing another person, James and Marcus went into action quickly. They both drew weapons and moved towards the woman. 

She stopped in front of them and began panting. Long, golden brown hair cascaded down a tanned face. Wide brown eyes were the central feature to the face, and an upturned nose gave a hint of pride. Curving, generous lips were licked as her breath caught up with her. 

"Thank Mystra you two are here, now we might have a chance…" She shook her hair and revealed ears that tapered to a point. ."Quickly now, we must take care of these beasts." She closed her eyes and turned to face the group of ten or so gibberlings and began to murmur an incantation. Her melodious voice changed as the incantation continued, becoming stronger, more powerful and commanding. Suddenly, she stopped and a ball of fire sprang from her outstretched palm, the scorching heat raced outwards and landed among the gibberlings to the right. It exploded and the flames fanned out, burning three to an outright crisp. Two others were inflicted with horrific burns, and their pitiful screeching and wails made the cacophony even worse. The unaffected animals continued onwards to the group of three. Marcus took a central position whilst James flanked him on the left, the mage on the right. The first gibberling to arrive was met by the crushing blow of the mages staff. Capped in iron on either end, it was a quick and efficient way of putting someone down. The gibberling crumpled as the blow landed. 

James skipped lightly backwards and slashed out at the face of another, drawing a deep gash across its eyes. It howled in rage as the searing pain began to take hold. James ended its misery with a light thrust through the throat. 

Marcus impaled one on the blade of his sword, running it through deeply, the weight of its charge forcing it down. He couldn't release his sword quickly enough to turn and face another, so he kicked out and caught it in the head. The crunching sound of bone greeted him, and the animals face was shrouded by red mist as blood exploded from its shattered nose. Its eyes crossed and it fell down, Marcus finished it with a knife cut across the throat, the coup de grace final and efficient. 

Marcus finally released his blade from the escaping entrails and turned to face the final gibberling, glowing orbs that erupted from the magic users hand suitably ended it. 

He wiped his blade on the grass and sheathed it, the steel ringing out loudly on the metallic edge of the scabbard. The magic user winced, but then straightened and tucked a strand of unruly hair behind her ear. She smiled sweetly and flashed a white-toothed grin that contrasted her swarthy complexion. 

"My thanks to you two, though I have to wonder why two outsiders are walking in this area… unless… are you Marcus and James of Tantras?" She asked tentatively. 

James grinned widely at her and flourished a deep bow, his hand raised to take off an imaginary hat. Marcus offered a stiffer bow and bent at his waist. "You have us at an advantage," began James, "you know our names, yet we know not yours. Please elaborate dearest beauty…" 

She rolled her eyes and sighed. "You humans are all the same…" She laughed and grinned again. "My name is Erin, and I am the magi sent to help you on your patrol around the Ravens Bluff area." She began to walk away, back in the direction she was running from, and set a steady place, her staff making steady thumping noises as she walked. James and Marcus followed quickly, taking up positions either side of her. 

"Though I'm not a native of the area, I have lived here for nigh on five years now. I'm beginning to recognise it as home from home, as it were." She walked softly; she had sturdy leather boots around smallish feet, a flowing green robe extended up her legs, slits on the side showing shapely calves. A loose leather belt rested on her hips, containing eclectic bits and pieces. Smooth golden arms extended out from the pulled up sleeves of the robe, one hand gripped the staff, and the other swung loosely as she walked. 

"I've been a part of the guild ever since I arrived and quarter in lodgings there, housing prices aren't cheap, and given my trade, I can't afford to expend money on both housing and equipment…" She sighed and wiped her hand across her forehead, the light glistening in her amber eyes, her hair trailed a way down her back; the brown tresses had a windswept quality to them. "I take odd jobs to keep up with the payments, and this was one of them. Obviously, I didn't plan on being ambushed by a horde of gibberlings, but such is life…" She shrugged and laughed softly. 

"Luckily we don't have to face any of those costs," said a sympathetic James, "the only thing we really need is armour costs and blade repair." He emphasised by laying a hand on the hilt of his rapier. 

They began a trek up a rise in the trail they had been following, and were met with the sight of a huge and gothic city near the horizon. The high and curving architecture gave a slightly sinister edge, but the bright colours and distant noises belied the appearance. 

"Gentlemen, I give you Ravens Bluff…" 


End file.
